


If We're Being Honest

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Episode Fix-it, M/M, S2E08- Unicorn, how it should have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on,” Peter said, touching Roman's elbow. “Let's sleep. We'll get up in a couple hours. While it's still dark out, we'll go.” His fingers lingered, and he squeezed. “Okay?”</p><p>Roman nodded. His neck was loose, swooping. “Yeah, while it's dark,” he murmured.</p><p>(Or: how 'Unicorn' should have ended, instead of Peter being a dumbass.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We're Being Honest

“We'll go in the morning,” Peter said.

Roman's eyes were closed, but he said _uh huh_ soft under his breath. And then, “No. We need--” He groaned, cracked one lid. “No, we need to go tonight. Now.” His hand, curled around Nadia's head, flexed. A little muscular twitch like his body was already dreaming.

Peter, despite himself, smiled. “I can't even walk, man.” He leaned back, gesturing to himself. The thousand aches and strains and gnawing pains that made him feel ancient, ripe with weakness. “And you're useless without me. We have to go together.”

The side of Roman's mouth quirked, half mocking. He tipped his head away from Peter to look down at Nadia. She was staring back at him, solemn and silent. “Yeah,” Roman said. “Useless as tits on a bee.”

The room, on its own oppressively silent, was bursting with the sound of their lungs, their heartbeats. Peter breathed it in deep, tasted it. The taste of them, together, and Nadia. Letha. Somewhere in there, impressionistic: Letha.

“Come on,” he said, touching Roman's elbow. “Let's sleep. We'll get up in a couple hours. While it's still dark out, we'll go.” His fingers lingered, and he squeezed. “Okay?”

Roman nodded. His neck was loose, swooping. “Yeah, while it's dark,” he murmured.

Peter put one hand on the wall to get to his feet. Roman looked up at him, head tilted with exhaustion. Peter bent, and gently took Nadia. She squirmed but didn't fuss. Her pink blankets lay bunched in Roman's lap.

“I'll just--” he said, turning.

“Wait.” Roman caught him by the pant-leg, one step towards the crib. “Wait, I...”

Peter looked at him, the wide bloodshot eyes and the tender parting of his mouth; the way his slender shoulders hunched against the sharpness of the wall.

“Okay,” Peter said. “Your bed?”

He pulled Roman up with one hand, Nadia cradled in the crook of the other arm. She kicked gently against his chest, gnawing her fist, as Peter braced himself for Roman's weight. It was more than he'd expected, but less than he'd hoped.

Roman swayed against him. He didn't let go of Peter's hand. He kneaded it, fitful, between his fingers. “Would you--” he said. “I'd feel better if--”

“Yes, okay,” said Peter again, after a pause. “Yes. I mean, I think I would too.”

They left the nursery open behind them, and the door to the hallway. But Roman shut his own bedroom door after them, and switched the lock, and still didn't let go of Peter's hand. He leaned back against the jamb, and Peter stood at a distance, stretched between Roman and his baby and--

“It's going to suck,” said Peter honestly. “Tomorrow? Whatever we do. It's going to be bad.”

“I know,” Roman said. “I totally know that.” He rolled his eyes, shut them. With the palm of his empty hand, he ground at the centre of his forehead. “I'm ready for this shit to be over, you know? I'm fucking ready for that.”

Peter worked his jaw. He looked down at Nadia. Her flashing blue eyes caught his. She smiled with three little teeth. Two on the bottom, one on top. Nice dull flat little teeth. Perfect little teeth.

“What do you...” Peter began. “I mean, do you have any plans for her? For if something happens. Or.” He held Nadia's gaze, the deep warm innocence of it. “Who's going to take care of you?” he whispered.

Roman scoffed. It was dry, angry. “Miranda, I guess,” he said.

“But she's going with us,” Peter said.

“Is she.” It wasn't quite a question, but not a challenge either.

“We need her,” said Peter. He glanced at Roman, and Roman tipped his chin, haughty.

“Yeah, we do,” he said.

Peter untangled his fingers from Roman's and dropped them. “Come on,” he said. “Let's hurry up and wait.”

The bed was a wreck, sheets twisted and blankets on the floor. Peter wrangled them back together with his one hand while Roman leaned on the door and watched him. It wasn't laziness, per se, Peter didn't think; it was helplessness. Roman had probably never made his own bed in his life. Maybe it didn't occur to him that he could.

Nadia whined when Peter put her down in the middle of the mattress. She didn't cry. She watched him tug the sleeves of his jacket and unbutton his plaid. It hurt to get undressed; he wanted to look in the mirror, to see the extent of the bruises and the places where his bones had destroyed his flesh from the inside. But he didn't. He looked right at the bare wall and undid his jeans.

“Listen--” Roman said, hoarse.

Peter shook his head. “Don't,” he said. “Not right now. Just. Later. Maybe,” he said.

He saw Roman nod from the corner of his eye. He saw the way Roman's hair fell limp over his forehead when he straightened up.

“Sure,” said Roman. He smiled, deeply false. “Yeah, sure.”

He yanked open his pants with all the finesse of a boxer and all the reserve of a flamenco dancer. He kicked them away into a corner of the room, and fell face-first onto the bed. Nadia bounced. She rolled into the dip of the mattress against Roman's side, and he put an arm around her. He was still wearing his shirt.

Peter shivered, getting onto the bed on his knees. This bed that still smelled like him and Roman and Miranda, if he thought about it. Was still soaked with their sweat. He fussed at the blanket and got it yanked up enough to cover his thighs. Roman watched him with one eye, the other hidden against the pillow.

“What?” Peter said. He rubbed his bare arms.

He laid down on his side, facing Roman, and with immense gravitas, Roman twisted until he could roll over and clap his hands together, twice.

The lights went out.

“Oh, really?” said Peter, and laughed. “That's terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” Roman said. He snorted; it veered a bit sideways into a giggle. Nadia echoed him, and although Peter's eyes were still adjusting to the dark, he put out his hand and touched her warm belly and the soft flannel of her onesie. The backs of his knuckles brushed Roman's ribs.

“I don't want to be grandiose,” Roman began.

Peter laughed again.

“ _But_ ,” Roman said, cutting him off, “this might be like our last night on earth, right?”

Peter sighed, as loud and dramatic as he could. “Every night could be our last night on earth. What do you know? What do any of us know?”

“Now who's grandiose,” Roman muttered.

“But yeah,” Peter agreed. “I mean, it probably is.”

After a moment, Roman said, “Nadia is... She belongs to both of us. You know? She's...”

He stopped. Peter felt the rise and fall of his ribs.

“She's ours,” Peter said. “She's mine and yours.”

“And she's herself's. More than anything.”

Peter pushed up on one elbow, blinking into the darkness. He ran his hand up the long ticklish length of Roman's ribs, and along the firm curve of his arm. He slipped his fingers through Roman's. “Especially herself's,” he said.

It wasn't any effort to roll a bit closer, until Nadia was squashed between them. She cooed and mumbled, and jabbed her round soft limbs into them. Peter let it be; he didn't mind that she hit his bruises.

“Roman,” he said. He hesitated.

Roman waited, breathing slow and even. From the darkness, he touched the bend of Peter's neck. “Uh huh?” he said.

Peter gnawed his lip. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

Roman drew him in slowly, real slowly. And it was partly so Peter could stop if he wanted, and partly so he wouldn't hurt Nadia. By the time they were close enough to find each other's mouths in the dark, Peter was breathing so hard he sounded panicked. But he wasn't. He wasn't panicked at all.

Roman kissed him very carefully, only the surface of his lips, like a butterfly kiss. It was the kind of kiss a flower petal got. Peter wasn't any goddamn flower petal, but he appreciated it anyway. He was too raw for anything else.

“I love you,” Roman said against his mouth. It was too quiet, and Peter thought he hadn't wanted to say it out loud. So he didn't say anything back. He squeezed Roman's hand, and breathed with him.

Nadia wiggled between them, and they couldn't get any closer with her in the way, but that was fine.

That was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr under trillgutterbug! Come say hi!


End file.
